Meitengheim Great Swordsman

These muscle-bound men came from a distant land blanketed in volcanoes—Meitengheim.

It had once been a colony of the Bacchus Empire. After the Count of Meitengheim led his troops to win independence a century ago, it became known as a "mercenary camp."

Quite a few Meitengheim Mercenaries came to Pande to make a living. They rarely used shields, preferring to fight on foot with two-handed greatswords.

They did not ride horses. Rumor had it that horse faces reminded them of their yellow-faced wives, but in truth, Meitengheim's rugged terrain was unsuitable for riding or forming cavalry units, so none of them knew horsemanship.

With volcanoes and iron mines spread throughout the country, Meitengheim's metallurgy was highly advanced. The heavy armor and two-handed greatswords they forged were top-tier goods anywhere.

Yet in the eyes of Pande Continent's nobility, the Meitengheim people were still merely barbarians. Though fearless and fierce as mercenaries, these towering, rough-hewn infantrymen truly did not fit Pande's knightly aesthetic.

At that moment, the dozen or so burly men all stared at the black-haired young man before them, their gazes filled with contempt and mockery.

Li Ang stood six feet tall. Half a year of training had given him a powerful physique, making him an impressive hunk by Pande standards. But standing before this group of brutes, he looked like a chick that had wandered into a flock of geese.

"Gentlemen, you belong to me now." Li Ang raised the parchment scroll in his hand. "Who's your leader?"

The burly men acted as though they had heard nothing, and the mockery in their eyes only grew more obvious.

"Huh? No one can talk? Looks like you'd rather be slaves than real warriors..." Li Ang had no intention of wasting words. He called to Andrew outside the door, "Let's go. Lock the door, and later we'll sell them to some noblewoman. They should fetch a good price..."

One Meitengheim man pushed through his companions and stepped forward, glaring viciously at Li Ang.

Compared with the other giants, he was not particularly huge—around six foot three, which made him short among these Meitengheim men.

Yet the muscles on his body seemed ready to burst forth, making the already strong Li Ang appear frail by comparison.

This brute probably weighed twice as much as Li Ang, but he did not walk heavily. On the contrary, he moved with remarkable lightness. Clearly, he was an expert who had balanced strength and agility well.

"What kind of warrior? If we fight as mercenaries, we will die without complaint. But if we are to enter an arena and fight beasts for others' amusement, we would rather die."

A scar ran diagonally across half his face from his forehead. His voice was as harsh as grinding metal, yet extremely clear, fitting the traits of a junior officer accustomed to shouting commands on the battlefield.

He was obviously this group's leader.

Well, he could still be reasoned with. That made things easier. And he had a sense of honor, which was even better.

"I bought you, of course, because I want you to fight for me as mercenaries. I will even pay you for it—though it may be slightly below market rate until I recoup the cost of buying you."

Li Ang stared into the man's eyes and spoke with stern sincerity.

Scarface stared back into Li Ang's eyes, listening intently. He nodded. "Fighting as mercenaries is fine. As long as my brothers have food to eat, payment does not matter... But I cannot lead them into certain death again. I will not let them follow another coward who cannot be relied upon. Unless you can prove your ability, Barkley man."

It seemed this group had once followed an unreliable employer, which was why they had ended up in this state. And their nation's history meant they had little fondness for Barkley people.

Li Ang thought for a moment, then looked at Scarface. "Who among you is the best fighter? We can settle this in a fairer way."

Scarface remained expressionless. "A fair way? What do you mean?"

Li Ang grinned. "Swordsmanship. Let your Meitengheim people's greatest specialty, the two-handed sword, decide it. If I win, you come with me and swear loyalty. If I lose, I will let you go and give you freedom. How about it?"

Scarface bared his teeth in what barely counted as a smile, and much of the chill in his eyes faded. "A good idea... There are not many men on the continent who dare compare two-handed swordsmanship with a Meitengheim Great Swordsman..."

Li Ang turned to Andrew outside the door. "Do me a favor. Find a few two-handed greatswords."

The arena lacked nothing more than weapons. Though they were all crudely made, most were sturdy and durable, more than sufficient for a duel.

Before long, several attendants carried over several weapons.

Scarface weighed them one by one in his hand, chose one that felt right, then nodded at Li Ang. Raising the longsword upright, he performed a swordsman's salute. "Meitengheim Great Swordsman, Kloze."

"Li Ang, Barkley man."

Without even bothering to choose, Li Ang casually picked up a sword and returned the salute, signaling that he was ready.

In truth, Li Ang was already secretly delighted. This man was actually a Great Swordsman—a genuine elite!

The room was spacious enough for greatswords to be used freely. The crowd stood far back in a circle, leaving the open space in the middle for the two men about to duel.

The two faced each other from roughly five paces apart. At the same time, they lowered their centers of gravity and held their swords in both hands, the blades angled down toward the ground at their sides.

Then they both stepped forward at once, locking in the distance.

Kloze raised his sword and made a light probing thrust. Li Ang did not even blink, letting the blade stab toward his eyes before watching Kloze pull it back with lightning speed.

It was a feint meant to draw Li Ang into attacking, but Li Ang did not take the bait. Instead, he held his position firmly and edged forward less than half a step.

He was much shorter than his opponent, and his reach was shorter than Kloze's. He needed to close the distance first.

Kloze also retreated half a step. He was an experienced swordsman, and the diagonal scar across his face—serious, but not fatal—proved that he was skilled at making use of his physical advantages.

But the instant he retreated, Li Ang suddenly bent low and lunged forward. He swung his sword backward to knock aside Kloze's interception, then closed to within a single step—far too close for greatswords, though perfect for daggers.

Kloze could no longer widen the distance either, because their swords were crossed beside them as they struggled for leverage. It was an awkward position where neither could exert much strength, and whoever withdrew would lose the initiative.

But Li Ang suddenly turned sideways and lifted both hands. After a short, teeth-grating scrape of blades, the pommel struck Kloze squarely on the chin.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. Andrew, standing farther away, did not see their movements clearly at all. He only saw that the moment they clashed, Kloze was knocked back several steps.

Kloze staggered back several paces and nearly fell before regaining his footing. Grimacing, he rubbed his jaw, his expression dark and ugly.